I find it hard to convey sarcasm in conventional writing.

So! Today's piece of writing is going to be personal. So for those of you not wanting a slice of my sick, twisted soul, feel free to turn back now, wimps. I mean, why are you guys even here anyway? It says clearly on the page description what to expect, right?

Ahem. Moving on....

At junior high school, I fell in love with books. Not that I didn't have access to a library back in elementary, but I just started reading a lot, and I mean A LOT, in junior high. And anyways I was such a goody-two-shoes back in elementary, which is perhaps unrelated to the issue at hand, which is my starting to love reading in junior high. Let's focus on that and just forget about the, um, rather embarrassing cause of my not going to the library in elementary school.

Anyway! So I loved reading, and my favorite topic was, surprise surprise, philosophy. I mean, aside from mythology. But I guess they are somewhat related, philosophy, mythology, along with religion, so it's not that surprising when you think about it. Darn.

But yeah, I read about those three (for you guys who inexplicably missed the previous paragraph, they are philosophy, mythology, and religion) extensively. I devoured the Greek mythology series by Menelaos and Yannis Stephanides, I read about the philosophical content of science-fiction movies (I can't remember the exact title of the book), I even dabbled in LaVeyan Satanism at one point.

Okay, that last one is a lie. I went to a Christian junior high, so it's highly unlikely that I would find a copy of The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey, printed by Avon Books as fiction, which enabled me to procure a copy from a bookstore in this country.

But I did read a lot of Anthony de Mello. Who is Anthony de Mello? He was a Jesuit priest, I think, who wrote a lot of anecdotes and short stories (a lot of which are really funny) based on a lot of the world's cultures and religions. So in short, he's sort of a spiritual teacher, a mystic, if you will. His stories (meaning stories compiled by him, not necessarily authored by him) are not really Christian in the narrow specific sense, but they are fun to read. Thoroughly recommended.

Now, from reading those philosophies, religions, mythologies, and even a bit of mysticism, with a teeny tiny splash of agnosticism and atheism, I sort of made up my personal philosophy (at the relatively young age of around 15), which is this: be satisfied with what you have, and enjoy life. Be happy.

That, fellas, turned out to be a bad career move.

Well, for starters, I think I pissed off some of my friends by acting as if I forget about my needs. That's exactly the point! I aspire to be some sort of tranquil mystic who is pleased by just sitting under a dead tree and playing his flute, who still sings happily after they cut off his arms, who gives all his treasure happily to a robber and then proceeds to sit under the moon and contemplates it until he falls asleep naked. I want to be able to live without anything.

And if that pissed off friends, you can imagine what my parents would be like if they managed to find out about this deeply buried aspiration of mine. They seem to view my lack of desire for, well, things, as an absence of will and assertiveness and commitment. Which might be true, I guess. But yeah, it probably won't be suitable with their aspirations about me which (I think) involves some measure of riches and a wife and children and being the patriarch of our clan. And work, of course, lots of work to get there.

So, as I said, bad career move. If I continue along this path, I almost definitely will not end up successful in the world. Society, even my family, will probably shun me. And, perhaps I might even die a lot sooner than other people my age.

Wow, tough choice, huh?

I found something I like doing.

You know what I just did?

I painted my papier-mâché bowl (for lack of a better word) with some watercolors.

I haven't tested its water resistance, though. Partly because it hasn't dried yet, and partly, I have reservations because, well, I painted it with watercolors. Maybe I'll need some kind of finish, some sort of lacquer or something like that.

But so far, I am pleased with papier-mâché. After this bowl/plate hybrid thingy I think I'll try making a mask or two. And of course, in due time, after I get better at it, I'll try making a small crossbow.

Seems like a logical progression, don't you think?

Shame. Contempt. Rage.

I don't know your name.

I know where we met.

At a bookstore. One of my favorites.

I know how you looked.

Perhaps as tall as me. Shorter hair than mine. Infinitely more beautiful than me. Close to perfection.

I don't know your name.

I remember what you wore.

A light blue shirt, slightly large for you. Simple. Practical. Lovely.

I remember the things you said.

My hair. Sheep. My studies. You wished me luck. How I wish to hear it again.

I don't know your name.

I know your age. Two years my senior.

I know where you study. Over the seas, in Japan. Studying sheep for your master's degree.

I remember how your eyes looked when you saw me.

But to know how you saw me,

A boon not meant for me, I think.

And I don't know your name.

I do not know your name

I know how I could find out.

I know how I could try to reach you.

I know who to ask.

But I cannot.

Not without mortal embarrassment.

So I beg you forgive me.

For being cowardly.

For being embarrassed of my own feelings.

For settling for a shadow instead of fighting for the light.

What a wretch! What a fool!